


Stay Where I Put You

by neverafuckgiven



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Emotionally Constipated Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Huddling For Warmth, Hypothermia, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Possessive Behavior, Scent Kink, Scent Marking, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-24
Updated: 2020-02-24
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:40:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22875682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neverafuckgiven/pseuds/neverafuckgiven
Summary: The wraith has Jaskier pinned under the water for at least a minute when Geralt finally manages to kill the damn thing permanently and haul him out. They’re lucky he had been close to the edge of the frozen lake and not the center; Geralt is not a small man and it would have taken him twice as long to pull Jaskier out without the ice breaking underneath them both.*Jaskier can't follow directions. It makes everyone's day a lot more interesting. Otherwise known as the Obligatory Cuddling for Warmth turns into Porn fic.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 14
Kudos: 688





	Stay Where I Put You

**Author's Note:**

> Here is an honest attempt at porn.
> 
> I tried.

The wraith has Jaskier pinned under the water for at least a minute when Geralt finally manages to kill the damn thing permanently and haul him out. They’re lucky he had been close to the edge of the frozen lake and not the center; Geralt is not a small man and it would have taken him twice as long to pull Jaskier out without the ice breaking underneath them both. 

Jaskier’s awake, coughing and spitting up water, and Geralt helps him sit up and lean over, has a hand on his back to steady him. “G-G-Geralt.” His teeth are chattering, his lips a vivid blue, and he’s shaking violently.

Fuck. Roach is back on the road where Geralt left her and where he told Jaskier to stay, the damn fool. Geralt hauls Jaskier up and runs as quickly as he can back to their campsite. Roach is still there next to their extinguished campfire; Jaskier’s freezing mouth is pressed to Geralt’s neck and he can feel the bard trying to form words, but he’s trembling too much to get anything out. The town is half a day’s ride and Geralt knows Jaskier won’t make it that long.

He puts Jaskier on his feet so he can relight the campfire with Igni, the bard tucked against his body, all of his weight barely anything against Geralt’s bulk. The fire springs to life and Geralt reaches for his pack, tugs his blanket free. He throws it on the ground in front of the fire and tugs Roach forward a few steps to block the fire from the biting wind before he lowers Jaskier to the ground on top of the blanket.

“I’m sorry. I know, I’m sorry.” Jaskier whines when he pulls away, but he’ll be able to move faster with both hands free; he tears his pack apart, pulling his spare clothes and cloak out, before he grabs Jaskier’s. The damn fool’s clothes are more showy than practical, but the thick blanket is the one good thing he spent coin on.

He throws it all on the blanket and huffs; he starts with Jaskier’s shirt, tugging it off, ignoring the way Jaskier starts weakly striking his chest, and towels him off before replacing the soaked shirt with his spare. He does the same with the pants and underwear, trying to dry him off quickly in between. The boots stay off, as close to the fire as they can be, but the socks get changed as well, the feet toweled off. He’s apologizing each step of the way, knowing Jaskier must be cold, so cold, but he settles when Geralt dries his hair and hands as gently as he can.

Once Jaskier’s dry, Geralt tugs off the top half of his armor, dropping it next to the fire. With no shirt, he isn’t exactly comfortable, but he runs hot and this is nothing compared to Kaer Mohren. He’s been made to be resilient. He throws the cloak over his shoulders and sits down behind Jaskier, pulls the man to his chest to better shield him from the wind. He pulls the thick blanket over their legs and the cloak around their upper bodies. Once they’re settled, Geralt puts his chin on top of Jaskier’s head and puts his hands on Jaskier’s chest to keep track of his breathing.

“Jaskier?” The man hasn’t spoken in a while, just coughing and chattering. “Jaskier, answer me.”

“S-still c-cold.” Geralt sighs, relieved.

“Never thought I’d be glad to hear you speak.”

“F-fuck you.”

Jaskier can’t see his face so Geralt allows himself a small smile. The bard’s still cold, but his body is warming up steadily. He wishes he had packed more food; a warm meal would help a lot, but this was supposed to be a short hunt. Stop the wraith and be back in time for dinner and a bath at the inn.

“Why didn’t you stay with Roach?” He’s not angry; he might be tomorrow when the adrenaline’s worn off and Jaskier’s not in immediate danger. That’s how it normally goes. When Jaskier doesn’t answer, Geralt ducks his head down and rubs his cheek against Jaskier’s temple, allows himself a soft moment in the wake of the excitement. 

“I h-heard shouting.” Geralt remembers; the wraith had caught him on the leg and it had hurt, nothing serious, but enough to piss him off. “I got w-worried.”

He huffs. To his credit, Jaskier had startled it, distracted it long enough to give Geralt an opening, but it had landed them in their current predicament. “Your lute’s still by the lake. If I’m lucky, it’s at the bottom of it.”

Jaskier jabs him with his elbow and Geralt adjusts his arms, pins Jaskier’s down by his sides. “We are not leaving my lute behind.” He braces his hands on Geralt’s thighs and wiggles, testing Geralt’s grip, which makes Geralt tighten it. “You’ll just have to go fishing for it. Since I saved your life.”

“Stop squirming.” Then it registers. “Saved my life?” Wraith must have gotten him on the head.

“Yes, don’t act like you haven’t got a clue.” Jaskier finally stops moving, but his hands stay on Geralt’s thighs, just resting there. “You’d be wraith food if it weren’t for me! Wait, do wraiths eat?”

The anger starts bubbling a bit. “No, you risked your damn life. How come Roach follows orders better than you?”

“Oh, comparing me to your horse! Why doesn’t that surprise me. You and Roach have much more in common. You both talk the same amount and you’re stubborn. At least Roach lets me ride her every once in a while.” The last bit is mumbled under his breath, clearly not intended for Geralt to hear.

But he does.

“Do you want to ride me, Jaskier?” His lips brush Jaskier’s ear; the very idea of it has him hard, pressing into the bard’s ass. 

“Geralt, I didn’t-“

“Didn’t what?” He can’t resist, slips one hand down to cup Jaskier’s cock through his trousers; the smile on his face must be filthy. “You seem to like the idea almost as much as I do, songbird.” Jaskier’s hard. Geralt can’t resist rolling his hips just once to relieve some of the pressure. 

Jaskier gasps, hips twitching forward. “Fuck, Geralt, what are you-ah-what are you doing? Fuck!” His hands are scrambling at Geralt’s, not trying to pull it away or push it down, just keeping it there, not that he could move it if he tried; Geralt would be lying if he said he didn’t like how much stronger he is than Jaskier, how he can move him with so little effort.

“I’ve thought about you on my cock. Your mouth mostly. Have to keep you quiet somehow.” Geralt starts rubbing, gently, always gently, pressing a kiss to Jaskier’s temple, enjoying every gasp and moan Jaskier’s making. “Fucking your throat. Wouldn’t be able to perform for a while after that.” He pulls Jaskier’s pants down and cups his cock, still rocking his own hips. “But I like those sweet sounds you make, songbird. I think I’d just fuck your ass so I could listen to them all day.”

“Geralt, please-“

“Just like that.” It feels like a dream, hazy and warm, like he’s half asleep, half awake. “Fuck, I’d keep you on my cock if I could.” He’s stroking Jaskier now, the bard rocking against him, into Geralt’s hand and back against Geralt’s cock. “Wouldn’t ever let you go. I’d kill any man or beast that would try to take you from me.”

“I wouldn’t go! Even if I could.” Jaskier whines, a wounded sound like he’s dying. “I want you to keep me.”

Geralt huffs out a dark laugh. “I intend to.”

That is what pushes Jaskier over the edge, moaning and shaking, digging his nails into Geralt’s skin; Geralt grabs his head, turns him, so he can kiss him, growls against that slack mouth, and comes. Jaskier kisses him back, bites at his lips with a soft sigh.

These clothes are going to smell like them both for weeks; Jaskier's going to smell like him for days. It makes Geralt rumble, pleased, rubs his cheek on Jaskier’s again. The bard’s falling asleep against him, muttering, “We are talking about this in the morning” and Geralt’s fine with that.

A good man would let Jaskier live a normal life. Would let him go and marry someone who could give him a house and children, a boring but safe life.

Geralt’s not good and he’s not a man. He’s been told it often enough.

Jaskier will eventually come to his senses. He’ll leave. Until then, though, Geralt’s going to keep his promise. He’s going to keep him safe and keep him happy and Melitele help anyone who tries to get in the way of that.

**Author's Note:**

> Geralt got a little dark at the end. Not sure where that came from. I like to think he and Jaskier had a nice talk the morning after.


End file.
